


A Father's Words

by MDJensen



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: (he gets both), Early Days, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Season 1, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve needs a friend, Steve/Chin friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 20:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: Chin gives Steve a letter that John McGarrett wrote him when his own father died.





	A Father's Words

It’s late, well past sunset, and Steve’s still in his office; that itself isn’t unusual. Although his house is literally his childhood home, his office is still where he feels most comfortable—for reasons he doesn’t bother delving into.

Tonight’s only different because he can see, through their glass walls, that Chin’s still in his office too. Steve doesn’t bother questioning that either. Only wonders if the man would be interested in ordering take-out together; actually, he’s just about to go ask, when Chin stands and approaches Steve’s office instead.

At the door Chin gives a cursory wave, then comes in quietly. Steve notes an envelope held in his opposite hand. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

“Not case-related. It’s personal.”

Steve nods, swinging in his chair to face Chin fully. Chin doesn’t seem upset, but then again, he’s got a pretty decent poker face. “Shoot.”

Chin smiles; toys a little with the envelope, holding it in both hands now. “So, I know this is, uh— out of the blue?”

“Okay.”

“Your dad,” Chin begins, then pauses. Steve’s chest has tightened instantly, and he breathes through the locked-up feeling.

Chin blinks and starts again. “When— when my dad died, your dad was really there for me, Steve. Not just at work but outside of it, too. But the thing is— it was always this silent sort of support. We’d go for runs. He’d take me for coffee. But he’d never really say much. Which was what I needed, a lot of the time. But I guess he felt like he had things he wanted to say—” he gestures with the envelope. “Anyway, he wrote me a letter. And I don’t mind telling you, it meant the world to me. I read it every day, for months. But even then— I think I knew he wasn’t just thinking of me when he wrote it.”

Chin steps forward and passes the envelope over; his touch lingers on it, like he’s parting with a lover, but he lets it go.

“It’s been nagging me, these last weeks. Thinking how much time _I_ got with _your_ dad. Especially after my dad passed, I definitely— well. He was something of a surrogate to me. But I think I was often standing in for someone myself.”

Steve’s forgotten to lower his arm; he does so now. The envelope is crunched at the edges and patched with tape, but the front plane of it is smooth as silk.

“You should have that,” Chin concludes. “I’m sorry I didn’t give it to your earlier. Read it. I’ll—I’ll be in my office, if you want. If you don’t, that’s fine too.”

And then he leaves.

Whatever he’d been expecting, Steve has to acknowledge that it wasn’t this; he runs his finger across the front once more, catching glimpses of writing on the paper within. His dad—wrote Chin a letter? When Chin lost his own father? It seems too sentimental, for a typically dispassionate man; but, Steve has to admit, he hasn’t known his father well in almost twenty years. Probably hasn’t spent more than a month total with him, in that whole time.

And there’s no more opportunities coming. This more than anything else weighs on Steve as he turns the envelope in his hands, and wonders if the man he’ll find inside will be very different from the man he remembers.

He tries to imagine John McGarrett writing it. Tries to imagine Chin sitting down, ripping the envelope with one neat finger beneath the flap; knows the guy wasn’t _young_ when he lost his dad, mid-twenties, if Steve remembers correctly, but still he feels a flash of protectiveness. Who’s ever old enough for something like that, really?

He wasn’t, and he was thirty-fucking-three.

Steve opens the envelope, slides out the letter, unfolds it.

And reads:

 

_Chin Ho,_

_I’ve started this letter maybe a dozen times now. I know what I want to say but not how I want to say it. But I don’t want to let any more time pass, so here we go._

_Losing your father has been awful for you. It never could have been anything but awful. But I know one of the things that’s weighing on you the most is that you did not get a real goodbye._

_I’m sorry for that. I can’t give that to you; nothing can. What I can do, though, is try to explain to you that no matter how much you wanted that last moment, you didn’t need it. Your father didn’t either._

_Why am I saying this? Son, everything you wanted to tell your father, he knew. And everything he wanted to tell you, he already had. Maybe not as often as either of you would have liked. But you were already putting to use everything he taught you. You learned what he wanted you to learn. And he knew how much you loved him; you didn’t need to be in the room with him for him to know that. Hell, you wouldn’t have to be in the same hemisphere for him to know._

_He knew what you wanted him to know. That you love him and you just want him to be proud of you._

_And he was. He was so proud of you. I know that as his friend, I know that as someone who knows you, and I know that as a father myself._

_And as a father let me tell you: you were with him. This I promise you. Your face was in his mind and your heart was with his heart, always, including at the end._

_I guess it boils down to this: he loved you, and he knew you love him._

_And that might not help a whole hell of a lot, at least not now anyway, but I hope moving forward it might ease your mind, if only just a little._

_Stay strong and understand that I am here for you._

_John McGarrett_

Steve reads it again, then one more time; then he lets himself pick through, center on the lines that pierce him the deepest.

_He was proud of you. He loved you. Stay strong._

_You were with him. This I promise you._

And he doesn’t know—can’t be sure— how much John was thinking of him, when he wrote this. But he’d like to think— well. That he was thinking of him quite a lot.

Pressure has been building behind Steve’s nose and eyes, and at this point it finally coalesces, becoming real tears. Which startles him, a little. It’s not that he hasn’t cried for his dad; he has. He’s been shoving most of it down, sure, he won’t deny it, but here and there it’s trickled out.

Still, this feels different somehow.

Bigger. Deeper. Less the shock of it and more the honest grief and yeah, maybe it’s the first time. The first real breakdown.

Here goes, then.

Steve bows his head and the tears spill down his cheeks; his insides hitch and twist until he gives in and lets himself sob. He folds and stows the letter, and holds it to his chest. Then for a solid few minutes he just sits, rubbing his thumb against the envelope, crying his eyes out, in more pain than he’s ever been taught to handle, but grateful too. So damn grateful for Chin Ho Kelly.

He didn’t have to give it to him. Obviously John McGarrett’s words had meant a lot to him too. But the fact that Chin gave it up anyway, the fact that he would do that for Steve— it makes Steve feel warm, make him feel like maybe he can still breathe a little when everything else says his chest should be caving in.

Fuck, but he’s really needed a friend.

Steve gathers himself before too long. It’s easier than he thought it would be, to pull himself back together; he’d worried that grief would be a door he couldn’t close again, but he closes it without much struggle. Scrubs his eyes on his collar, blows his nose on some napkins. Feels—not _better_ , exactly, but relieved, and unwound, and kind of warm.

Comforted?

Oh damn, he feels _comforted_ — how about that? By Chin, and by his dad. His dad, who’s gone; who by rights should never be able to comfort him again.

Somehow he still has.

Steve puts the letter in his locking drawer, blows his nose again, and pushes to his feet. Makes his way to Chin’s office and knocks on the door. He knows his eyes must be swollen, face a mess, but he doesn’t really care; he gets the sense Chin’s the last person who would judge him for his tears.

Chin lifts his head, pushing back from his desk. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” he gets out, voice cracking like he’s thirteen again, but Chin just smiles. Comes to his side. Reaches out to shake his hand and Steve takes it, yeah, but then with a grunt he pulls the man against his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispers, so his voice can’t break this time. Chin laughs, and pats Steve’s shoulder.

“Got your back, brah,” he hums. “Okay?”

Steve nods. And for the first time in a full decade he doesn’t feel like he’s got to be the one to hold it all together. Chin’s got it handled. The floor feels solid and the room feels still and Chin feels familiar already.

And Steve lets himself stay, for a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing to spruce up and post some of the mostly-finished drafts on my computer. A productive way to procrastinate writing the three longer stories I should be working on (as well as my lesson plans).


End file.
